Repeating Nightmares
Repeating nightmare—Desmund Darvav. He possessed the greatest magical talent the Desmund family had ever seen, second only to its founding head. The world had called him the Mage of Annihilation. Every enemy connected to him vanished without a trace, whether they were entire territories or single individuals. A man born with the makings of an archmage, he had forced countless renowned swordsmen to bow their heads, their bodies trembling at the mere mention of his name. A monster, they whispered. Even the empire's greatest swordsman, hailed as the continent's strongest, had once avoided conflict with him, as had countless nobles. All because of the existence known as the great mage Darvav. Yes, the very same archmage once dubbed the Noble Bomber.
"Let go!"
For the first time, he was tasting bitter defeat at the hands of a swordsman. And not just any swordsman—a boy barely in his early twenties.
"Let gooooooo!!"
Watching Kyle restrain Darvav, I could only wear an awkward expression. I hadn't expected him to be thrown down so easily. Honestly, I hadn't thought he would lose. Still… well, he was the head of House Desmund. I'd assumed their clash would at least be fierce.
—Caliburn.
—Yes, Master.
—Did I borrow much of your power during that exchange?
—No…? I wasn't used at all.
—…I see.
I looked at Darvav with a bitter smile, unsure what expression to make. If I so much as smirked here, the mansion probably wouldn't survive. A Desmund enraged was more than capable of that.
"Let gooooo!!"
I knew it. Darvav wasn't drawing on his full strength. The power he'd displayed in the novel had been beyond imagination, so I wasn't arrogant enough to think this was everything he had. He was clearly holding back during the spar, yet…
"Let gooo!!"
Faced with Darvav's genuine fury, I didn't know how to react. What I did know was that the black magic energy blocking his blood had vanished, making him stronger. That was why he was so worked up.
"If I use my real power…!"
"Father!!"
"Kyle, let go!"
A mage engaging in hand-to-hand combat with a Sword Master might seem foolish, but Darvav was the kind of monster who could make it possible. There was no room to hold back.
"Let go! If I use magic properly—!"
"Please calm down!! Lady Olivia is watching!"
"What?!"
Darvav lifted his head at Kyle's words and looked toward the mansion windows. When he saw the young lady sipping milk with Rosanna as they watched the courtyard, his eyelids trembled.
"Hoooom. Mommy. Daddy and Ricardo are fighting."
"They're not fighting, they're sparring. And it's not Daddy, it's Father."
"Then why are they fighting?"
"I don't know."
"Hmm… I'm bored. Want to make a bet?"
"What kind of bet?"
"I'll bet one chocolate that Ricardo wins."
"Then Mommy will…"
Rosanna met Darvav's turbulent gaze and recalled her husband in his younger days—the passionate man who hated losing.
—Hey. Thanks for saving me last time, adventurer.
—Shut up. You're ruining my drink.
—Ugh… Next time, I'll save your life. I swear it on the name of Desmund.
—Bullshit.
Rosanna offered a faint smile and accepted Olivia's bet. As his wife, it was only natural.
"Mommy will bet on Ricardo too."
Someone had to protect the household finances, after all.
Feeling their gazes, Darvav pushed himself up, his resolve burning anew.
'My wife is watching.'
'My daughter is watching.'
'I am the head of House Desmund—the father who must catch the thief trying to steal his daughter.'
'I must prove my worth as a man.'
Before being a father, he was a husband. Though Rosanna held no expectations of his victory, Darvav, now fighting before his wife, exhaled deeply as fighting spirit surged through him for the first time in ages.
"You've gotten stronger."
"You flatter me."
"No. You may be proud. Most swordsmen couldn't even reach my feet."
"That would be because you are strong, my lord."
"Indeed."
This was bad… I couldn't think of a way to lose while properly preserving Darvav's pride. If I held back too much, I might end up dead instead.
As if reading my thoughts, Darvav scattered chilling mana and approached.
"From now on, I come not as Olivia's father, but as Desmund Darvav."
"Perhaps we should stop here—"
"Here I come."
"…Surely not."
"Meteor…!"
—Rumble rumble rumble…
Afterward, I heard Darvav got scolded by Rosanna. Of course, the winner was—
"Let go!!! I can just destroy it and build another!!"
"Be quiet!"
"Aaaagh!!"
—me. Though Darvav never got to settle the match and remained trapped in Kyle's arms, huffing until the end, I caught a satisfied smile in his eyes as he left.
"…"
Still, it seemed I'd passed.
***
I dreamed again today. The same dream of a woman wandering the battlefield, committing slaughter. One-sided murder. Soldiers powerless before overwhelming strength could only tremble in fear at the sight of her, while she offered them only a sorrowful smile as they blocked her path.
'Please, move aside.'
In the dream, her pink hair soaked red with blood, and the heart that once sought God had long since vanished. As always, she drifted aimlessly across the battlefield, and today, as ever, a man stood in her way.
—Stop.
—…
—I cannot let you go any further.
Instead of blood-soaked hair, it was a man with red hair who pointed his sword at her with a sorrowful expression. His lips moved, but no sound reached me. Her lips, too, were filled with rage as she screamed, yet nothing reached my ears.
—….!!
—…
—…!!!!!
All I could see were the wounds of two people filled with sorrow. And the dream always ended the same way.
—Thud…!
The man's death.
"…Hah, hah!!"
Yuria woke from the nightmare, gasping for breath. Sweat drenched her entire body. Her clothes were soaked through, nearly transparent, and her breathing was ragged.
—Drip.
She touched the droplet that had fallen onto the back of her hand, then wiped her eyes. Seeing her palm wet with tears, she let out a deep sigh.
"Another nightmare…"
She had this nightmare about three times a week. She'd hoped she might grow used to it by now, but the dream refused to fade, leaving her unsettled.
'I have a sparring session with the instructor today.'
Shaking off the unpleasant feeling, Yuria checked the clock and hurriedly dressed. She was supposed to meet the instructor at the training grounds by 5 a.m. Promises had to be kept. Only then could she grow stronger.
On the day they'd gone to find the Holy Sword, she'd felt it keenly—she was someone who could do nothing. Though the instructor had praised her during the meeting, compared to Ricardo, she was still like a helpless child. No matter how brightly she shone in others' eyes, it meant nothing if she didn't shine in his.
The unpaid debt continued to pile up. Yuria stretched and moved her feet briskly. She knew that wallowing in gloom wouldn't help anyone. The dungeon. The ball. The events in the north. In so many incidents, she had been useless. The only thing she could do was train with everything she had.
Yuria exhaled deeply and tied up her hair. As she made her way toward the training grounds, she saw familiar faces.
Hanna Histania.
—I need to catch up to Senior Mikhail…
Mikhail.
—Please be quiet. I can't concentrate.
Luin.
—Glance…
Everyone was striving in their own place. Especially Mikhail, who seemed to be pushing herself to the point of overwork lately. With everyone so busy, they hadn't talked like they used to. Even back in their second year, they'd eaten together often.
"Mi—"
Just as she awkwardly raised her hand to wave at Mikhail, a voice by her ear made Yuria flinch and hide her hand.
"What are you doing?"
It was the instructor. Having removed the bandage from his right arm, he rolled his neck once, then turned his head in the direction he'd been looking and spoke quietly.
"Mikhail, was it?"
"…"
"You've been working hard lately."
"…"
"But…"
While loosening his wrists, the instructor voiced a single question, as if it didn't particularly matter.
"That kid."
"…"
"Is he growing out his hair?"
"…"
Malik shrugged as if it were of no consequence and gestured for Yuria to come over.
"Let's begin."
"Yes."
During their long exchange of blows, the instructor lightly dodged her punch and murmured a piece of information, as if to say she shouldn't tell anyone else.
"Ah, right… Speaking of which, did you know there's a special lecture during summer break?"
"Pardon?"
"We've invited an external professor. You should participate."
"There was something like that?"
"Mm… I had it arranged."
As her teacher, Malik offered his advice.
"It would be good for you to attend."
"…"
"The instructor was very difficult to invite."
A cold smile hung on Malik's lips.